


TarGeT

by cordeliasept



Category: GOT7, NCT (Band)
Genre: Gen, biker lucas, cyborg jackson, idk what this is, kinda based off of wayvs mv, scrapped piece, tbh this sucks, what are tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-01
Packaged: 2020-04-06 04:40:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19055425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cordeliasept/pseuds/cordeliasept
Summary: Jackson isn't your typical person.





	TarGeT

**Author's Note:**

> a scrapped cw piece, so im sorry if its terrible :/

Sometimes, he wondered why he hadn’t died yet.

It had started out like this: First, he had woken up in a laboratory, stuck in a glass tube full of white vapor and smoke. All these unfamiliar faces turned toward him in surprise and shock. The next thing he remembered, he was outside. The air felt so incredibly hot and he had no idea why—at least until he turned around to see a building entirely in flames behind him.

Then, he found out he was a cyborg and that he was supposed to be completed back around WWIII, only that the scientists died before they could finish. The only thing humane about him was some parts of his brain and his heart. Every single sense he had had been amplified and enhanced. He was incredibly strong, incredibly speedy, and most importantly, incredibly durable. Able to withstand temperatures of more than 1000 degrees Celsius, combined with his waterproof and fireproof mesh acting as human skin and his corrosion-resistant wiring—he was basically a war machine. 

Except for one thing.

He was meant to defend, to help his country from predators and the new threat arising from Japan’s weeb outbreak. However, his behavioral patterns and personality was almost entirely coded from a small chip inserted into the back of his neck. When he had run out that building/lab that fateful night, there were two chips he could choose from to stick into himself. He just happened to choose the “wrong” one. Now he knew how to cook, clean...and basically be a domestic caretaker. Not a war machine.

Without any chip, he would not be able to survive for long outside his metal tube. How he knew that he had no idea. He had woke up and known automatically.

_Could a peaceful cyborg ever become a weapon of war?_

That was the one question that always ran in his head.

 

With Airpods in his ear, the “23”-year-old cyborg was now flipping the “CLOSED” sign in front of his bakery store to “OPEN” when he heard a loud crash from down the street. He took out his earbuds and looked up—in the large city he lived in, he never really heard anything this loud before. At once, doors opened from stores all around him, curious owners and managers peering around to see what the source of the noise was.

“Everyone put your hands up right now!” Five motorcycles were in the middle of the intersection, helmets on and guns at the ready. The few cars moving at this early hour screeched to a halt. Pedestrians screamed, some diving for shelter. Others threw their hands up in an instant. One of the motorcycle men hopped off his bike and adjusted his leather jacket, a chain hanging from his waist. Judging from the way he moved and the vibe he gave off, he seemed to be the leader of the motorcycle gang. Slowly, he walked down the street, twirling his pistol in his fingers as he weaved in and out of the cars. His eyes, large and chocolate-brown, eventually made their way to the bakery store where the cyborg stood.

“Lucas,” the male hissed. 

“That’s me.” Lucas tossed the gun in the air and caught it, completely relaxed. “Well?” He lifted the gun up, pointing it at the cyborg in amusement. “Aren’t you going to put your hands up? _Jackson._ ” He said the name with a sneer, a smirk etched on his face.

“No thanks.” Jackson shrugged and turned back to reenter the shop.

There was a gunshot, and Jackson felt the bullet clank against his back and fall back down to the ground. Turning around, he saw Lucas’ surprised expression and smiled. 

“H-How? You’re only wearing a simple worker’s uniform!” Lucas reloaded the gun quickly and shot again. Once again, the bullet ricocheted off Jackson’s chest and clattered to the ground. Lucas’ expression became angry as he realized the truth. “They did not—”

“I’m afraid they did.” Jackson tilted his head slightly. “I’m the war machine you’ve been looking for.”

“No! My worst enemy, _you,_ is now the weapon I’ve been looking for my entire life?” Lucas stared at Jackson in disbelief. “Impossible…”

“Sadly, I’m not exactly your weapon.” Jackson shrugged. “I can cook. I can clean. Doubt I could hurt a fly.” He held up a menu he had been holding in his hand. “Anyways, care for some flan?”

“You and your goddamn flan obsession.” Lucas rolled his eyes before turning back to the motorcycle boys still at the intersection. “Boys! We’re leaving.” As four motorcycles revved up and left the city, Lucas snatched the menu out of Jackson’s hands. “Maybe I’ll consider. But—” He pointed at his earring, hanging a small target symbol with a knife going through it. “—the JSL Association won’t forget this. You know what we can do to you.” 

Jackson kept a neutral face up until Lucas was soon out of sight. His calm facade dropped immediately as soon as he was gone. “They wouldn’t do that to me...That’s impossible.” 

The minute the words left his mouth, there was a sharp buzzing sound, and everything went to black.


End file.
